


Length of His Mind

by darlingred1



Series: Red [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Humiliation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 20:12:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14528277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingred1/pseuds/darlingred1
Summary: He hated her. She lorded her power over him more blatantly, more unrepentantly than Thor ever had. She never allowed him to forget his place. She reduced him to his basest, most useless, and most pathetic state with the ease of a child stretching its limbs.He never wanted to be rid of her.





	Length of His Mind

Loki had had many plans in mind when he arrived on Earth, even more when he had fixated his attentions on Natasha Romanov rather than any of her other former teammates. Yet none of his plans involved lying on Romanov’s bed and watching her penetrate herself with a blue silicone phallus she called a _dildo_.

If it could be termed _watching_ when he could see very little of what he wanted.

She had only bared herself to him once, when pain had made a haven for itself under his skin and the scent of his own blood had filled his lungs like smoke. He had paid little attention to her nakedness, too preoccupied with his own thoughts, his own body.

Perhaps this was his punishment. Romanov wore a thin gray shirt that, at its full length, fell just above her knees, although she had hitched it up until it barely covered her hips. He could see her inner thighs, pale and glowing in the morning light; the hilt of the dildo gripped in her hands, which were so small and delicate-looking, although he had felt the power in them numerous times now.

He could see her nipples, hard beneath her shirt, teasing him nearly as much as the soft, wet sounds of the phallus moving inside her.

He was still sore from the previous day, when that same phallus had been in him, driving into him so deeply he swore he could still feel the echo of it in his gut.

She wasn’t doing the same to herself. Her movements were slower, gentler. If she had fucked Loki with even half as much kindness, he would have torn out handfuls of his own hair, but she seemed to enjoy it. Her body rocked into her shallow thrusts; she moaned quietly but sweetly.

“Here,” she said suddenly. “Feel this.”

She clasped one of his hands and brought it to her thigh, where the muscles moved under her skin. That was surely what she meant for him to feel, but the proximity… He bit his lip. His hand was so close to where the dildo disappeared under the hem of her shirt that he had to grit his teeth with the effort to keep it there. To not inch his thumb further inward, to stroke where she was smooth and wet and hot.

It humbled him. It angered him. How she could provoke him, toy with him, trust that he wouldn’t ignore her orders and take what he wanted.

_You won’t._ _You’re too weak._

The truth of that burned him worse than her denial.

So close. Such a miniscule distance between where his head rested on the pillow and where her nipples pebbled ever tighter, ever more visible against the gray fabric. He could touch his tongue to one, make it harden even more. She would sigh and arch under him. She would do away with the phallus and fill herself with his fingers instead. She would bite him, claw his back, tell him _Come on, Loki, show me how well you can please me._

_She wouldn’t_ , he snarled at himself, and tore his hand back in shame. What was he doing? What was wrong with him?

“Did I say you could move that?” Romanov said, her voice as silken as the skin of her inner thigh.

He hated her. She lorded her power over him more blatantly, more unrepentantly than Thor ever had. She never allowed him to forget his place. She reduced him to his basest, most useless, and most pathetic state with the ease of a child stretching its limbs.

He never wanted to be rid of her.

“Hey.” She slapped him but only barely, lightly enough that he hardly felt it. She was intent on denying him everything, it seemed. “You’re wandering. I thought you wanted me to fuck myself.”

_Fuck_. He loved the way her mouth shaped that word. The vulgarity, the severity of it. He shuddered and then was furious at himself for the reaction.

“Am I?” he said thinly. “Perhaps that could be remedied if I took a more…mm, active part in the proceedings.”

She laughed. A smooth sound, yet somehow it cut him like a jagged blade. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He thought sometimes she’d grown almost fond of him—her tolerance of his scornful comments, her compassion when he’d cracked like a fragile vase under her delicious cruelty—but in moments like these, he knew she had not. Delighted in seeing Loki weakened, suffering at her hand, heeding her command, yes, but that was all.

_‘You thought you were powerful enough that you could conquer my planet, and now you’re my footstool,’_ she had said. And then he had willingly, eagerly, been her whore. How far the once-prince of Asgard, the rightful king of Jotunheim, had fallen.

Romanov slapped him again, this time more strongly, enough that his body seized and swayed towards her. Treacherous thing that it was, wanting more. Wanting anything she would give him, pain or pleasure.

“Still wandering,” she said, gripping his chin in a harsh, unyielding grip. “What are you thinking about?”

He swallowed, staring into her eyes. They were green, and flinty, demanding truth. He would not give it. “I wonder… Do your friends know the depths of your perversions? Or that you are capable of such cruelty?”

She freed his chin with a snort. “You think this is cruel? I’m giving you what you asked for. You wanted to watch me fuck myself, and here I am.”

She rolled towards him, settling on her side, so close he could feel the warmth of her skin and her breath. Then she draped one leg over his hip and sidled even closer, nearly pressing the full length of her body against his.

_It would be so easy_ , he thought, shuddering, _to slip inside her_. So simple to remove the dildo, to thrust into her where she was slick and loose. He was already nude, and she was nearly so. He could please her, move as slowly and gently as she preferred, make her moan and shake in bliss.

“But if you want a more active role…” She clasped his hand, the one she had held to her thigh, and brought it between her legs. His fingers brushed the flat base of the phallus. “Hold that still.”

He gripped the firm material, felt that it was slippery with her wetness, and then he was the one moaning, shaking, curling his body closer to hers, hating himself for his weakness and desperation, hating himself even more for how much he craved being reduced to it.

“That’s it,” Romanov said, almost cooing. “Just like that. Keep it there.”

She abandoned his hand, trusting him to obey—and he would, he knew, he would do whatever she asked like this—and touched his shoulder instead, using it to steady herself as she lifted up and sank down. Her movements were tentative, experimental, at first, but grew swiftly more confident until she was fucking herself on the dildo in Loki’s hand.

He could smell her, that thick musky scent seeming to gather on his tongue until he swore he could almost taste her as well. He could smell himself, too, but it seemed insignificant in comparison. He had been erect for far longer than she’d been toying with him, but if she had even noticed, she certainly had not acknowledged it.

She didn’t care. His cock meant little to her, and the realization only made him burn more hotly.

_Why?_ He closed his eyes tightly, fearing he would lose himself, tremble harder and make sounds that would shame him even more than he already had done. _Why have you let her do this? Why do you allow her to mock and shame you?_

“Oh!” Her hands flew to his neck suddenly, one on either side, and her leg tightened around his hip. “Ohh, that’s good,” she groaned, rocking more forcefully and with renewed purpose.

Loki’s mind cried _Yes, yes, yes_ as though he was little more than an animal being fed after weeks of starvation, and it only worsened when she drew herself closer, crushing her breasts to his chest and panting against his lips. She wound her arms around him and sank her nails into his nape. He bit his tongue, holding a moan in his throat as she writhed against him.

How many times had she undone him like this, or worse—and still he had never had her as a man has a woman. _Never will_ , something in him whispered, _because you are not a man; you are a beast._

After all the years that Thor had tried, in vain, to coax Loki into sharing tales of his sexual conquests…what would he say to this? The fact that Loki’s cock had never been harder, that he was leaking so much he was nearly as wet as Romanov, from nothing but the knowledge that he would not be fucking the woman in bed with him?

Romanov shoved him away suddenly, red-faced, her breasts heaving, and replaced Loki’s grip on the phallus’s base with her own. “Do you want to see?” she asked, and Loki’s gut twisted with need.

_Yes_ , he thought feverishly, _show me what I can’t have._ He was trembling again, shamefully, stupidly, but he clung to his arrogance, forcing a smirk onto his lips. “Goodness me. Such an offer. However shall I—”

“Loki,” she said.

He despised the way she said his name. Like he was a pet who had been bad but was too dim to understand why.

He ground his teeth, even as his prick throbbed. “Must I remind you that I put myself in your hands? Should you ask it—”

“There’s not much you won’t allow,” she said. “Yeah, yeah. Right now, I’m asking you to tell me if you want to see the way my cunt looks stretched around this cock.”

His face burned at her brazenness. Neither her gaze nor her voice wavered at her own vulgarity. He wanted her to break him apart like a twig, chip away at him until there was nothing left in him capable of feeling such humiliation at his own exposure.

“Loki,” she said again, and he swallowed thickly.

“Yes,” he admitted.

She stroked his cheek, and although he managed not to lean into the touch, he loathed himself for wanting to. “Good,” she murmured. “Next time, answer me immediately.”

She rolled to her back, spreading her legs wide enough that the hem of her shirt inched higher than before. He saw short wisps of reddish hair and her hand drawing the phallus out of her body, its blue shaft shining with her wetness, and he sat up so he could watch the full length of it disappear back inside her. For a moment, he swore he could feel the slick tightness around his own cock, and words began to spill out of his mouth unbidden.

“I could assist. I could—” _Lick you. Finger you. Fuck you until you are shaking and satisfied._

“Hold it again?” Laughter lurked in her tone, and he did not dare look into her face, dreading the ridicule he’d surely find there.

“Yes,” he whispered instead.

Romanov let the dildo slip out of her again, and the sound of it made him ache. “Mm,” she said. “Maybe. Beg for it.”

It was a testament to how far he had fallen that his flare of fury was extinguished almost as soon as it had appeared. “Please.”

This time she let her laughter free. “Needy thing. Look at you.”

_Thing. Yes._ He was her whore, her toy. The Captain knew it now, and soon so would the rest of her comrades—Thor among them. And when the Mad Titan came for him, he would see it too before he finally put Loki out of his misery.

“All right,” Romanov said, sounding almost affectionate now that he had debased himself for her. “Keep it still for me.”

He replaced her grip with his, nearly whimpering when he felt that she’d got even wetter. He held the phallus in place as she rocked against it, rubbing her clitoris with one hand and grabbing a fistful of his hair with the other.

_Yes_ , he thought, and though he had wanted to watch, he couldn’t stop his eyelids from slamming shut. _Hurt me. Please._

As though she had heard him, she wrenched hard enough that his scalp lit with agony. It was terrible. It was glorious. His entire body sang, and the world fell sharply into focus before it went blurry at the edges. No one had ever mastered him so effortlessly.

When she let go, he nearly whined in protest but stopped himself as she cupped the back of his head instead and drew him towards her. He stooped for her, parted his lips obediently, and sucked her nipple into his mouth when she offered it to him. The fabric of her shirt separated his tongue from her skin, but he paid it no mind, licking and nibbling the taut peak as though it were bare.

“Dammit,” she moaned, arching into him. “Fuck me.”

He didn’t understand immediately, not until she gripped and tugged his hair again and spat “ _Loki_ ,” and then he let the momentary _no, no, I’ve displeased her_ panic guide him. He withdrew the phallus from her cunt and thrust it back in, and when she sighed “Yes,” he did it again.

After three more thrusts, she gasped, “Stop!” and grabbed his hand, holding it in place with the dildo deep inside her. He gentled his sucking until he was just barely worrying the nipple between his lips. Her fingers were wet against his—from rubbing her clitoris, he realized with a shiver—and she had closed her thighs around his wrist, rocking her hips gently as she came.

“Good,” she said when she eventually stilled, stroking his hair. “That was good.”

He glowed at the praise, like there was a burning star in his chest, lighting him up from the inside, and no amount of scorning himself for the reaction made it fade. He allowed her to move him as she wished: on his side beside her, no longer touching her at all. She removed the phallus, and although he wanted it down his throat, the taste of her on his tongue, he said nothing as she set it aside and rolled to face him.

Only when she cast her gaze down his body, lingering on his groin, did he remember his own needs, and his cock twitched and let loose a dribble as though weeping at its own pathetic depravity.

She smirked, and Loki despised and ached for her. “You’re certainly a sight for sore eyes right now, aren’t you?” she said. “Touch yourself.”

He complied with a sigh that was equal parts relief and disappointment. He had suffered for her already, but still he wanted more. He wanted her to beat him, bleed him, shatter him, and leave him to hobble himself together again and then crawl back for more.

He bit his lip, nearly losing himself in the tight heat of his own fist on his prick. “Surely this is not—” He swallowed a cry as his fingers slid just right, brushing his cock where it was most sensitive. “—all you had planned?”

With an arched eyebrow, she pinched one of his nipples and twisted it, and he yelped even as he relished the pain. “Who’s in charge here?” she demanded.

A quiver wracked his body, and he turned away, his face hot. The answer stuck in his throat, refusing to be dislodged—absurd, really, because he knew she would shake it easily free.

“Loki.” She grabbed a strand of hair, twisted it around her hand, and pulled until he whimpered. “Who?”

_Not me_ , he thought, stroking himself faster, feeling pinned and helpless, prey in the jaws of a predator. _Never me. No matter how much I may wish it were so._

“You,” he moaned.

“That’s right,” she said, and despite her pleasant tone, she tugged his hair more harshly. “You remember what I did to you last night? How I stroked your cock and let go just as you came?”

He attempted a sneer, clinging to his control, his pride, but suspected he failed. “I am…not likely to forget it.”

She smiled unkindly. “You’re going to do it to yourself now. I want to watch you ruin your own orgasm. Do you understand me?”

His first impulse was to roll over, show his belly for her, as he had been doing all morning, but on its heels was a bold, vicious _I won’t._ The thought was like a flash of lightning across the placid sky, a burnt carcass heaving itself from the ashes. She toyed with him, yes, but only because he had laid himself at her feet. _She can only rule you when you allow it_ , he told himself.

Loki stroked himself harder, intent on spilling his seed and reveling in the disobedience. Perhaps she would punish him, strike him across the face in that way she did that never failed to ease the ache in him.

“Loki.” She jerked his head back, making his scalp scream, and his cry sounded pitifully rapturous to his own ears. “I said, do you understand me?”

Her green eyes peered into his, glinting with savagery and heat and _power_ , and he splintered.

“Yes,” he said, “I understand,” and snatched his hand away just as his cock gave its first pulse.

It was worse than even when she had done it. Then at least he had felt the edge, felt himself tip over it and that initial pull of ecstasy as he began to fall. Now there was nothing but the gnawing, excruciating need that went denied as his prick throbbed and spurted and his fingers curled around the bedsheets, impotent.

And through it all, Romanov stared at him so kindly, so… _proudly_ , that something inside him shuddered and broke apart, leaving him adrift, as tottering and frail as a newborn. For a moment, he thought he would surely sob and wet the bed with his tears, like the weak, miserable thing he was.

“Good,” she said, her hand gentling in his hair, petting him so sweetly he couldn’t help but moan and lean into her touch. “I wasn’t sure you had enough control for a second there. But you did it perfectly.”

_I’ve pleased her_ , Loki thought, and for the moment, that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit of sex while I figure out which parts of that horrible movie I want to use and which parts I want to continue blissfully ignoring...


End file.
